As Long As You're Mine
by AGriffinWriter
Summary: Sequel to "Five Words or Less". The Slayer and her vampire think they might finally have a year sans apocalypse… only they didn't count on a rogue witch and three annoying geeks, who are intent on destroying their Hellmouth Ever After. Full summary in chapter 1 to avoid spoilers. Spuffy canon-like AU Season 6. M for violence, mild language, and frequent smut.
1. Chapter 1: The Cool of Evening

**"As Long As You're Mine"**

AGriffinWriter

_Summary: Though Glory is defeated and Dawn's status as the key voided, Buffy and Spike still have a ton of work to do cleaning up Sunnydale in the aftermath of the portal's opening. That doesn't stop them from enjoying the summer nightlife and the love they've been fighting to achieve for so long. While still working to gain Giles's approval of their relationship and be dependable guardians to Dawn, the Slayer and her vampire think they might finally have a year sans apocalypse… only they didn't count on a rogue witch and three annoying geeks, who are hell-bent on destroying their Hellmouth Ever After. Spuffy canon-like AU Season 6. M for violence, mild language, and frequent smut (a lot more than "Five Words" – Hey, you asked!)_

_Author's Notes: Sequel to my season 5 story "Five Words or Less", which I highly suggest you read first so you're not confused. This season is not 'wildly' rearranged, but since this is a lot more AU than "Five Words", to prevent spoilers I won't be listing the exact episodes I take dialogue/scenes from. All direct quotes from season 6 episodes belong to the talented and creative writers of Buffy. The title comes from the song of the same name in the musical _Wicked_._

_Author's Chapter Note: Happy fluff and __**smutty smut warning**__! Mood music: 'Bloodstream' by Stateless._

**_Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Buffy, Spike, and the rest of the gang defeat Glory and Co., including the old magician Doc, who sneaks up the top of the tower and cuts Dawn during the appointed time for the portal ceremony. Spike, however, seals Dawn's cuts, fulfilling the prophecy's criteria that "the blood flows no more". Victorious but exhausted, the eight heroes of Sunnydale relax, knowing they'll have their work cut out for them… tomorrow, at least._

* * *

Chapter 1: The Cool of Evening

"I'm s-sure we can work something out!"

The middle-aged man and his wife cringe against the alley wall, the bricks at their backs, hemmed in by two shadowy figures.

"A d-deal of some sort," the wife nods, tapping her husband's watch to urge him to remove it, having already handed her purse over to the frightening shadows. "Anything you w-want!"

"I've always wanted a pony… oh wait, you weren't really talking to me, were you?"

Victims and attackers turn as one to see the young woman only a few feet away – millennia of demon-fighting power packed in a five-foot-four-inch, petite blonde form.

Buffy Summers shrugs, drawing a trusty stake from a back pocket. "My bad. Well, as long as I'm here…"

Lunging forward, she plants her heel into the kneecap of one of the couple's assailants, and he yowls, falling forward into the light of the nearest streetlamp. Human.

"Wow," whispers Buffy. "A mugging. Haven't had one of those in a while."

The other attacker – also definitely human – stumbles back, dropping the woman's purse as he stoops to help his buddy.

"Usually it's blood, and all with the honor…" She continues staring in nostalgic surprise from the confused muggers to the terrified couple, then shrugs and picks up the lady's purse. "Just a good old fashioned mugging, kinda sweet actually."

All four of the others in the alley stare at Buffy as though she's completely bonkers.

"Uh, probably not for you," she reconsiders. Handing the woman her belongings, Buffy gestures to the end of the alley. "Go. Now."

Nearly tangling their feet together in the rush to flee the alley, the husband and wife take off running, and Buffy turns back around as the second mugger comes at her with a switchblade. One perfectly executed block and a quick punch later, he's bouncing off the brick wall and then pinned with one arm behind his back, the knife clattering to the asphalt ground. Buffy twists his wrist and fends off the recovered burglar with a carefully aimed kick.

"Not too sweet for you either, huh? But come on! Rush me! It'll be funny."

A roar straight out of hell makes the injured mugger wheel around with another yelp, coming face to face with a ridged forehead and a shock of gelled blond hair.

"No!" screams Buffy just in time, before her lover can wrench the head off the man.

"Bloody hell!" Spike recoils, human face resurfacing as he assesses the mugger by the light of the streetlamp.

"They're human! Don't kill them!"

"Sussed that out for myself, luv," he chuckles, enjoying the utterly terrified look that remains on the injured thief. "So…" he catches the man by the collar before he can scramble away, "What do we do with 'em? Not just gonna let 'em crawl away? Reckon this one needs a new pair of trousers. Pissed 'imself from fear."

"Ew, Spike, that's gross," scowls Buffy, still holding her own mugger against the wall.

"The nose knows, luv. Just tellin' it like it is. But you're missin' the point. What'll we do with 'em now? Let 'em off with a warnin'? '_We catch you preyin' on little ol' folks again, we put you in our bait traps for the big slimy demons_'?"

"We _have_ bait traps now? When did those get in?" asks Buffy, befuddled.

"Oh, yeah," Spike says in total seriousness, hearing the already pounding heart rates of the two wannabe muggers hike up to an even faster tempo. "Watcher just had 'em ordered in. Demon Girl's got them over at the shop. Real shiny."

"Ah," Buffy nods facetiously, the mugger trembling under her grip. "They're the _really_ secure kind, right? It'd be useless if the demon just ate them before we could get there."

"I dunno. So far as I could see, just lots of padlocks but pretty weak bars so the ginormous nasties can just break in and nibble a bit before we rush up an' kill 'em."

"Please! Please let us go!" squeals the man with his arm pinned back by Buffy. "We won't do it again! We swear!"

"Promise?" says Buffy very sternly, channeling Principal Snyder just a little bit.

"Yes! Yes!" stammers the mugger in Spike's grip. "Please let us go!"

Buffy sighs, pretending to be disappointed as she makes eye contact with Spike, who grins licentiously, neither of the muggers able to see his face.

"I suppose we should let them go," she says reluctantly. "We'll just have to find other people to use for bait."

"Oh, oh! Can we use Xander?"

"No! Honestly, I thought you two were starting to get along."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy releases the mugger's arm, and Spike shoves his own captive toward the end of the alley before snatching up the abandoned switchblade and twirling it around in his pale fingers, then slipping the knife into a pocket of his duster. The two men flee for their lives, taking furtive glances back at the bizarre pair of super-strong blonds.

"Nice bluff, with the bait traps," Buffy grins at her vampire.

"Thanks, pet. Can't believe I thought those measly little shmucks were demons," Spike shakes his head at the retreating failed criminals. "You'd think little wankers like that would've been vamped and staked long ago. Ah, well. Bigger fish to fry tonight, eh, luv? Time to scare those hellish dimension-hoppin' whatsits back to the pits that spawned 'em?"

"You're very scary, you know," says Buffy, smiling coyly.

Spike takes a mock bow. "All part of the Big Bad persona, sweets. Gotta keep up appearances, what with this whole white-hat double life I'm tryin' to maintain. Puts a lot of strain on a bloke. Gotta get my rocks off somehow."

"There are other ways," Buffy smiles suggestively. She glances down the alley in the direction of the terrified men's getaway – making sure they're alone – then crosses to Spike and loops her arms around her lover's waist. "You, me, the large fluffy-looking bed in your crypt that we haven't broken in yet…"

"Aw… you're a tease, you know, luv?" he purrs. "Gettin' a fella's motor revvin', only to let the tension marinate a couple-a hours."

She leans up, fully pressing herself to his body, and licks his ear before pinching the lobe in her teeth. "My _big_ bad…"

"Ohhhh… god, pet, so help me, unless you fancy a quick shag up against this bloody wall…"

From the far end of the alley comes a vicious growl, and Buffy and Spike break apart, both of them staring at the repugnant creature. Two sets of blood-red eyes fill up almost the entirety of its face, and its body is a mottled periwinkle-blue underneath leather armor that would have made Conan the Barbarian jealous.

The Slayer sighs, smiles, and pulls a stake out of her back pocket.

"Work, work, work… It's a good thing all the normal vamps and demons seem to be on summer vacation already. How many more of the stupid portal things are we gonna have to hunt down?"

"Dunno, luv. Gotta say, of the ones we've found so far, this one takes the cake on big an' ugly."

"It looks slimy," she assesses skeptically. _After five years, you'd think I'd learn never to wear anything semi-nice on patrol, but no. Buffy must slay in style_.

"Bit like a chaos demon, 'cept lackin' on the antlers," agrees Spike, flipping the wannabe mugger's switchblade back out of his duster pocket and practicing a few moves. "Hope it's not corrosive. That'd be a bitch if it got on the leather."

"Great. Now I might have to fight _acid_-slime demons from other dimensions. Oh, goody."

He chuckles, knife at the ready as the lumbering demon smashes a mailbox and then flees with heavyset thumps toward the closest open area. "C'mon, pet. Bet you're so spry that Captain Slimeball over there won't be able to lay a mucky finger on you."

* * *

"Ewww! Ew Ew _EWWW!_"

Squealing and shaking from head to toe, Buffy rushes across the graveyard, drenched in ice-cold, periwinkle-colored demon guts.

"Hang on, luv!" yells an equally-soaked Spike, chasing after her and holding his duster away from his body, shaking the leather to shed as much as possible of the frigid slime, thick fibrous goop like ropes of seaweed. He doesn't know what the hell this stuff is, but it's cold enough to draw immediate goosebumps on his skin. _If it's bloody well givin' me frostbite, even more of a danger to my girl…_

"Why did you have to tackle it?!" she shrieks as they cross over from Shady Hill into Restfield, weaving between headstones.

"It tackled _me_! Didn't know the git was an arctic version of a supersoaker! Thank god it's the start of bloody summer!"

"You don't feel temperature! You're a vampire!"

"I do so!" he pants, catching up to her with only twenty paces left to reach his crypt. "Made me sweat, haven't you? Just don't complain about it as much as you live'uns!"

"S-s-so, it's c-c-c-cold for you?"

A frantic look passes between them as Buffy's cold-induced-shaking intensifies. Spike struggles harder with the lock on his crypt door, which he hasn't returned to in the couple of weeks since his capture by Glory's long vanquished goons.

"I'm tryin', luv, I'm tryin'!" he barks when her teeth start chattering. "Jump. Move. Do somethin'."

"It's so sticky and c-cold!" Buffy wails, taking his advice and pacing around in front of the door, her movements stiffening as the viscous guts begin to freeze solid on her clothes and skin. "Oh god! I hate sticky! It's in my hair! I hate it I hate it _I hate it_!"

"Oh, bugger all!" He shoulders the door open – hinges grinding and rust particles sputtering like sparks – and hurls his mostly-clean duster over the back of his armchair. "Hurry in, pet! Mind the rugs!"

Stripping his ice-encrusted shirt off as he crosses the upper level of his crypt, Spike shoves aside the slab that covers the entrance to the lower chamber and hops down the stairs three at the time. He kicks off his boots without stopping, runs over to his self-installed shower, and flips on the spray, hopping on first one foot and then the other to pull away his socks.

"Luv, hurry down here! Gotta scrub it off!"

Buffy comes crashing down the steps and yanks off her heels and sweater and jeans in rapid succession, leaving these clothes in a trail as she hurtles toward him. Rushing underneath the spray still half-dressed, she squeals at the first touch of the tepid water.

"It's cold! It's too cold! Make it warm!"

"Anythin's warmer than this sludge, pet. Gotta do it slow, so we don't shock your system. Give it half a minute…"

She nods, flinching slightly and scrubbing to help the water slough the freezing grime from her arms and face. It takes her a few seconds to realize Spike is still standing beside the little shower in nothing but his jeans, his arms around his chest, rocking on his heels and shivering.

"You're cold, too," she murmurs, recognizing her own symptoms now manifesting in him, delayed by his vampire constitution.

"I'll be a'right," he shakily nods. She lifts a brow, but then her eyes soften, staring at her stubborn lover. He is finally healthy looking, all his scrapes and bruises from the battle with Glory, Doc, and the minions are healed, and his ribs and abdomen no longer have that hollowed-out look from when he'd been starving.

"Spike…"

With his gaze intently on her, Buffy slowly raises her water-soaked shirt up her torso and peels it all the way off her head, revealing her simple white underwear set. Spike swallows thickly, pupils widening to nearly fill the blue in his eyes.

"Luv…"

"Water's finally warming up. Wash my hair?"

Without waiting for him to give any reply, she turns around, draping her tresses down her back, coyly glancing over one shoulder when he doesn't immediately obey. He's just slack-jawed, staring and smiling, mesmerized by her, one forearm propping him up as he starts to lean into the alcove in the wall.

"God, Summers…"

"Spike, just get in here," she orders with a snort of laughter, and he almost trips over the rough stone lip of the shower recess, hurrying in beside her. "You silly vampire. You're freezing! And not the nice freezing. The covered-in-harmful-monster-guts freezing!"

"Didn't want to hog up the water," he shrugs, smiling sheepishly as he removes his belt and tosses the slime-smeared bit of leather out of the shower. He dips his head underneath the spray to let the water cascade down the planes of his face, sluicing off the grey-blue grime.

"See? That's why we _share_," Buffy whispers.

"Mmm…"

A low, aroused sigh escapes his lips as she pulls him close and nibbles his ear again. Her hands entwine around his back, pushing at the denim covering his lean hips, while his fingers trace slowly up her spine and pause at her bra clasp. She nods against his cheek, her lips tracing all around his jawline until she nears his mouth.

"You should make sure I'm all clean, right, baby?"

"Mmm, do the best I can, luv, so long as you promise the same."

She nods again, this time letting her hands wander around to the front of his jeans, opening the button and zipper with two little twists of her thumb and forefinger.

"I think there's a _lot_ of demon on your pants. Better take them off."

"Demon _in_ my pants, too, sweets," Spike winks, and they both snort with chuckles almost immediately, divesting each other of their remaining clothes. "You walked right into that one, Slayer. Somethin' in this slime must be makin' you giddy."

"I'm just remembering how silly the monster was. Did you hear how it talked?" Buffy giggles, utterly relaxing under the warming water. One of Spike's arms remains around her waist while the other reaches to a self-installed shelf underneath the jerry-rigged showerhead, squirting a little dollop of body wash into his palm.

"Yeah, all '_Arrgh! This here dimension be mine now, me maties_,'" Spike growls in perfect imitation of the monster's accent, sending Buffy into further hysterics.

"And – and then you s-said, '_Oi! We're not pirates, you daft prick!_'" adds Buffy, her attempt at British falling short but earning deep chuckles from her lover. "And then it barreled into you and belched slime all over us!"

"You did kill it, right, pet?"

"It ruined my shoes! Of course I killed it! I just didn't know it would explode this guck everywhere _again _when I stabbed it!"

Still laughing, he starts rubbing the liquid soap all around her shoulders, his eyes tenderly scrutinizing every inch of her front for residual icy goo, and only then does Buffy notice the distinct scent of the body wash.

"Spike… did you steal my soap?"

"Aw, I'm shocked, luv, truly," he pouts out his lower lip, only looking the faintest bit guilty. "Nah, jus' bought the same brand… this coconut citrus stuff. Got it 'fore you even gave me the time of day. Surprised you haven't smelled it on me before."

"I like your Spike-smell," she grins, nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck and pressing her chest to his while his hands roam around, washing her back. She melds against him, his hardness resting against one of her bare hips.

"What, cigs and vodka?" Spike snorts, an extra swagger in his voice, his hands tenderly soaping up her skin.

"Sometimes. Smoky… kinda leathery… I'm not really good at describing it. You're just Spike, and the way you smell makes sense."

His hands pause on their cleansing sweep over the front of her body again, velvety fingertips trailing across her breasts. Her gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips, and her mouth puckers, neck arching up to meet him, only stretching a little to comply with their compatible heights.

"Know what you mean," he murmurs between kisses. "You smell like Slayer… and Buffy… and sunshine…"

He buries his nose in her hair only to get a face-full of the last bit of goop and recoils, prying the cold from his eyes.

"I _told_ you it got in my hair!"

"Forgot, but it's a'right. Got the cure for that, too."

She hears the squelch of more soap being dispensed, and then he wafts his palm near her nose.

"That's… you also got my shampoo?"

"Sure did."

His hands go up around her neck, lifting her drenched hair off her skin and massaging the base of her skull with tender thumbs. He picks out the remaining chunks of solidifying goo and lets the water slough it away, then spreads the lavender vanilla shampoo all through her locks.

"Let me do yours." She twists around to get a handful of shampoo herself and threads her hands into his hair, noticing the little gasp that escapes him when her thigh brushes back and forth against his erection.

"Great…. M'hair's gonna be all fluffy and poofter-smellin' in the morning," he mutters, rolling his eyes but not quite able to hide the sudden breathlessness in his voice.

Once his hair is full of suds, Buffy kisses his jaw, reaches for the liquid soap, and starts to spread the lather around his throat where his t-shirt had failed to protect his skin from the bitterly cold spray of monster viscera. His eyes drift closed, and he places his hands above the soap rack, leaning over her slightly as her hands drift lower and lower.

"Buffy… Buffy, luv… ohh…" His groans turn incoherent, mouth slightly open, face twitching in pleasure. She adds more soap to her hand and wraps her fingers gently around him, sliding back and forth, feeling the heft and shape of him.

"You like?"

"Baby… god… oh god…"

"I think you're all clean now. No more demon guts."

A purring chuckle rumbles through his throat. "Good… that's good… Buffy, stop, luv, too much… wanna enjoy you a while yet…"

Spike catches her wrists and lifts her arms around his neck instead. One hand remains braced against the wall, and the other clings to her lower back, holding her up so his lips can explore hers.

"I love you, Buffy Summers."

"I love you, William… last name still to be determined…" she adds, only nagging a _teensy_ bit.

Spike laughs and kisses her harder, pausing when she splutters for breath, snorting water from her nose.

"Sorry," he murmurs, changing the angle of the showerhead so the now-steaming spray mainly hits their upper backs instead of their heads. He kisses her as though famished for her passion, his tongue flicking between her lips. With one hand tugging his hair, Buffy clutches his shoulder, mewling when he rubs one hipbone against her wet center.

"Touch me," they both gasp out, again laughing together as both sets of hands rush to comply. Buffy's palms slide firmly down Spike's chest, and he trails his fingertips down her back until he cups the firm globes of her ass and pulls her against him.

"Oh my love…"

Hands still gripping her glutes, he kneels and kisses down her belly to the juncture of her thighs, panting with ardor as his lips and tongue follow trails of water droplets to the prize he seeks.

"Buffy…"

"Oh yes… Spike… oh! Oh yes!" she keens, bucking her hips into the cavern wall that forms two sides of the shower crevice, the other two sides left exposed to Spike's bedchamber.

He licks and suckles at her most sensitive skin, and she digs her fingers through his peroxide-blond hair, turned gold by the water. Her first peak comes swift and intense, legs nearly buckling, and as she gasps for breath he growls playfully, his wicked tongue still lapping at her nectar until she rapidly climaxes again. She bends over his head, shaking with the intensity of her pleasure.

"Oh… m-my god. Can we have just-saved-the-world sex every night?"

"Gladly, luv. I bloody-well can't believe I've been able to keep my hands off you all week. A'course, we were sleepin' half the time, an' couldn't have any fun in front of Niblet. But now I've got you right where I want you…"

Smiling, he grips her waist to keep her from falling down to the floor, and stands slowly, kissing and lightly nipping his way back up her body.

"My amazin', beautiful girl…"

"Need you, Spike…"

Still trembling, she wraps one of her legs around his hips, and his hand anchors under her thigh, his other palm kneading her breast. With hot shower water still raining down on them, he slides into her heat until their pelvic bones brush together. They fall into rhythm perfectly, hands busily caressing and fondling and stroking, driving each other towards release.

"Oh… oh luv… tell me quick –"

"I love you!" she gasps, clenching his shoulders.

Spike grins amidst his grunts. "Love you too, baby. I was askin' if you want to finish up here or move to the bed, 'cause if you don't make up your mind soon I'm gonna be over an' more likely than not, m'legs won't work for a bit."

"Bed, please! Oh!" She gasps as he pulls out of her, slickness dribbling down her inner thighs. Spike shoves the shower knob back to 'off', lifts both her legs around his waist, waits until she locks her arms about his neck to stabilize herself, and stumbles out, grabbing a towel from the floor. They tumble into bed only half-dry, slick limbs sliding together on his ivory sheets.

"You're so beautiful…" he groans, pulling her in close so that he can lick the water droplets from her breasts. "How'd you get to be so beautiful, kitten?"

"It wasn't from sleep, that's for sure," she giggles, finger-combing his wet hair. "I didn't read the Slayer Manuel, but if it doesn't have 'insomnia' in the Warnings and Side Effects section, I should sue."

He snorts with laughter and kisses all around a nipple before sucking it into his cool mouth, making her squeak with pleasure and clutch him.

"Do you have any idea how long I've dreamt of havin' you in my bed, Buffy?" whispers Spike, his lips still making tantalizing sweeps across her breasts and collarbones. Her fingers pull at the cream-colored sheets, her body arching into his every touch.

"Was it _before_ or _after_ we made out in my kitchen for the first time?"

"Before. _Long_ before then, baby. And now… you're finally here… oh my love…"

His eyes are sparkling with barely-formed teardrops, scarcely believing that her soft, blazing body is spread beneath him. She smiles, tracing a fingertip across his cheek.

"I'm really here, lover. I'm here… and I'm so happy."

"_Ohhh… _Buffy, let me in, please… please, Buffy…"

She nods eagerly and roves her mouth over him until she finds his lips again, gasping and squeezing as he fills her. She drags her nails down his shoulder blade, and a visible thrill ripples across his skin.

"Buffy," he sighs into her mouth. "Ohh, my Buffy…"

"You make my name sound so pretty," she beams. "How do you do that?"

"Everythin' always sounds better when kissin', pet." His lips rove down to her cleavage again, his hips still working their deep, steady pace. "Buffy… gorgeous Buffy…"

She clenches her hands in his hair, her back bowing as delicious, blissful spasms rack her body.

"Spike… oh god, Spike… mmm…"

Almost dizzy with love, Buffy tightens her legs' grip around his waist and rolls them over, delighted with the size of the bed. She kneads the space between his brows with her lips, grinding on him, fighting for his release as much as her own.

"Don't make me bite you," she playfully threatens, after several hours pass and he still hasn't succumbed to her carnal attack, still thick and hard inside her. For a split-second, streaks of gold flare across his eyes, but he just twists his hips, flipping her onto her back again and nuzzling his nose down the column of her throat.

"You gettin' tired, luv?" he smirks, already closer to ecstasy than he'd like to admit. "Havin' trouble keepin' up?"

"You impossible, undead sex god." She nips his lower lip. "I know where your V-spot is."

"My what?" he snorts, propping his elbows up on either side of her shoulders, the slight change in position enough to direct his thrusts to a new, unexplored place deep inside her.

"Your… _oh!_... your V-spot. V for vampire. I'm calling it that. Because you… _ohh!_... you come when I do this."

She fastens one hand around the base of his head and forcefully laves his neck with her tongue, and he instantly bucks, nearly losing his self-restraint.

"That's cheatin'!" he groans through gritted teeth.

"I know." Her lips move up to his ear, her arms squeezing tightly around his neck and shoulders, her body only seconds away from another rapture. "My stubborn darling… come with me, Spike. Spike…"

He cries out her name, his muscle control finally shattering with a last push into her clenching channel, and collapses, trembling.

"Think you broke me, luv," he rasps, lips slurring against her throat. "Mighty fine Slayer muscles…"

She just nods, her body overwhelmed with pleasure, a contented warmth spreading through her body as though she's lying out in sunlight. "Sleep now?"

"Of course, baby," whispers Spike, nestling close. "World'll still be waitin' in the morning."

"Don't jinx my afterglow," she pokes his ribs teasingly, and by the time her arms drift back around his shoulders, her eyes have closed, sleep overcoming them both.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Author's notes: Well, in one chapter, I've managed to have more sex than in all 288,953 words of the first story. I promise there is actually going to be plot in this fanfic. Depending on my hectic life schedule, updates will hopefully be up every two weeks or so. Reviews fuel my muse. ;)_


	2. Chapter 2: The Stash

**"As Long As You're Mine"**

AGriffinWriter

_Though Glory is defeated and Dawn's status as the key voided, Buffy and Spike still have a ton of work to do cleaning up Sunnydale in the aftermath of the portal's opening. That doesn't stop them from enjoying the summer nightlife and the love they've been fighting to achieve for so long. While still working to gain Giles's approval of their relationship and be dependable guardians to Dawn, the Slayer and her vampire think they might finally have a year sans apocalypse… only they didn't count on a rogue witch and three annoying geeks, who are hell-bent on destroying their Hellmouth Ever After. M for violence, mild language, and smut._

_Author's Notes: Sequel to "Five Words or Less", which I highly suggest you read first so you're not confused. All direct quotes from season 6 episodes belong to the talented and creative writers of Buffy. The title comes from the song of the same name in the musical _Wicked_._

_Thank you Hercules8, xxtheTwistedSistersxx, Mirandaannw, SpaztasticalMaiden13, KittenofDoomage, Gravenimage, Mia Vaan, Neinka, EllieRose101, Obscurebookwyrm, helenlovesboo, Buffyfan72, ginar369, Da 0122, and TieDyeJackson for reviewing! I might not always respond to your reviews because of busy RL, but I love and appreciate them all the same!_

**_Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**_: Buffy and Spike save an old couple from some muggers and get attacked by a pirate-speaking ice-sludge monster from the portal. They defeat it, but at the cost of Buffy's stylish attire… so she and Spike simply _have_ to take a steamy shower together, and fall asleep in his bed._

* * *

Chapter 2: The Stash

They awake tangled in the sheets and in each other, the darkness of the underground chamber making it impossible to tell the time. Eyes still closed, Buffy wraps her arms around her vampire's chest, pressing her lips to the muscles above his heart, and he stirs with a light groan of contentment.

"Mornin', luv." His fingers stroke her back, gently tiptoeing down her spine.

"Morning, Spike."

"Sleep a'right?" Even though he still sounds drowsy, his voice takes on a sultry air, and one of his hands wanders down her arm, coasting across her skin and setting it tingling slightly. "Sore in all the right places?"

"Mmhmm. _Very_ satisfied."

She nuzzles tighter to his side, and he takes the hint, resting his palms on her upper back, content to just embrace her.

"My humble accommodations suit you? No funny lumps in the bed that I haven't sussed out?"

"Extra comfy. This place is okay for a hole in the ground. You fixed it up."

"Well, I ate a decorator once. Maybe something stuck," he teases, brushing his nose against her sleep-tousled hair.

Leaning up a bit more, she hooks her chin over his shoulder, anchoring her head in the crook of his neck, her fingers now running up and down his smooth chest.

"I've been thinking about doing something to my room."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I think the New Kids on the Block posters are starting to date me."

"Maybe a bit," Spike smirks, hands tenderly cupping her shoulders. "I could offer tips if you'd like. Might end up with a bit more black an' scarlet in your room than you'd prefer, though."

"I was wondering about that." Buffy sits up and flushes at the look of adoration in Spike's eyes as he stares appreciatively at her. "Um, why the, um, non-vampy colors?" she asks, indicating the ivory sheets and honey-colored duvet, all soft and cloudlike. Spike grins.

"Wanted a change… Wanted a room I thought'd be worthy to bring my sunshine over to spend the night. It's not finished," he mumbles at the sudden shocked look on Buffy's face. "Still gotta finish the shower an' all, but this was all a cave when I started out–"

"No, it's not that," she gasps, rapidly smoothing back her hair and staring around for their abandoned piles of slime-covered clothes. "We… I…_ I_ _spent the night_."

"Yeah…" Spike's forehead creases with worry. "It's 'bout ten in the morning, give or take. What's the matter? Did I do somethin' wrong, pet?"

Her head whips back around, and at the sight of his utterly desolate expression, she covers her mouth with a hand.

"Spike… no, you misunderstand. This was great. I just shouldn't have left Dawn all night! What if… what if she didn't catch the bus?"

The stopped-up air in his lungs whooshes out in a sigh of relief, and he drops his head softly against her shoulder. "Had me scared there, luv, but there's nothin' to get worked up about."

"But Dawn has to–"

"Buffy, it's _Saturday_. An' besides, Red and Glinda would never let Niblet miss out on her fine education, bookish as they are. She's fine. They're all fine."

"Oh."

Giving a reassured sigh, she embraces him again, inhaling the smoky scent of his skin that sends a familiar heated thrumming throughout her body. She nuzzles his neck, teeth scraping slightly, and his head droops back with a rasping moan of longing.

"Not like there's much left for her to learn before summer break anyhow," Spike murmurs, his breath catching as Buffy squirms her legs around until she's sitting astride his lap. "Niblet's got exams next week, hasn't she?"

"I… I think so… We'll ask her later. There's a very naked vampire in this bed that needs attention."

"_Ohh_, Buffy…"

He cups the back of her head in one hand and kisses her fiercely, his body almost crazed with renewed need. After a moment of reciprocating the kiss, Buffy ducks her head away.

"Mnn! Hang on, I have to brush my teeth, except… darn. I need a toothbrush here. And other girly cleansing things, like a razor and a bath scrubby."

"Luv," he chuckles, "you know I don't care whether you–"

Then she gives an audible shiver.

"You're cold!" gasps Spike. "Oh, god, baby, I'm so sorry!"

Sliding her off his lap, he swings his legs out of the bed and bolts for a pile of neatly folded blankets and towels by the shower, muttering to himself all the while.

"A'course she's cold, all bloody over again! Stupid underground cave with nothin' but a sheet and a dead idiot for a bedmate!"

Bring over two patchwork quilts, he unfurls them one after the other and spreads them over the bed, while Buffy just smiles glowingly up at him. Spike digs around near the small bookcase for a packet of matches and moves around the room, igniting candles.

"That any better, pet?" he asks on his next pass close by the bed, looking around desperately for more candles. Instead of answering, Buffy snags his hand and tugs him down beside her.

"Spike… when a girl is cold, she doesn't want the guy to give her his jacket or run off for blankets. She wants _him_, his arms… his body…" She draws her lips across his cheekbone to his mouth and lingers there, teasing his lips with her breath and the flicking tip of her tongue. "Spike… warm me up."

* * *

Another couple of hours later, sweaty and panting with satisfaction, Buffy shimmies out from underneath the sweltering blankets and dashes for the shower before Spike can pull her back into his arms again.

"Call Dawn and tell her we'll be home soon, okay?"

"A'right, gorgeous," he answers, lying back and grinning in love-drunk ecstasy.

"And don't gawk at me!" Buffy orders, her cheeks flushing pink as she remembers that the curtain-free alcove will do absolutely nothing to conceal her from her lover while she washes.

"Ooh, can't promise that, luv."

"At least turn your back while you're phoning Dawn, please?"

Stretching and rolling onto his stomach, Spike reaches for the phone and dials the number for the house on Revello Drive.

"Summers'," answers Dawn after a few rings.

"It's me, Platlet." He switches the phone to his other hand, purposefully avoiding the temptation to glance into the shower enclosure. "Big sis an' I just got up from restin'. We had a nice long lie in, on account of the nasties keepin' us up all night on patrol."

"_Resting_, huh?" asks Dawn dubiously. "And did any actual _rest_ happen while you were _resting_?"

Spike snorts. "Bein' around Demon Girl so much has given you a dirty mind, Niblet. Thought Glinda'd counteract that. And _no_, when I say 'rest', I ruddy-well mean 'rest'."

"Okay," Dawn replies, her voice still teasing. "Tara's making pancakes for lunch. If you guys hurry there might be some left for you when you get here. Everybody's coming over so Giles can do his happy research dance."

"Ha! Wouldn't want to miss that. A'right, we shouldn't be too long."

"See ya!"

At the faint _click_ of Dawn hanging up, Spike returns the phone to its receiver, detangles his legs from the silky sheets, and pads across the room to dig clean clothes out of a drawer. By the time he tugs on his other pair of black jeans and a heather-grey t-shirt, Buffy comes out of the shower with a towel bundled around her middle, covering her from breasts to upper thighs.

"Hel-lo, sweet'eart," he murmurs with a lusty grin.

"Quit gawking! You're lucky I love you so much, mister!" she snaps, scowling playfully and searching the cave floor around the shower until she unearths her bra from beneath last night's towel.

"I really am, y'know."

"What?"

"Lucky… _honored_, rather," he corrects, his voice softer but his eyes still intensely passionate. "That you love me."

"_So much_," Buffy repeats the emphasis, turning around so her back faces him and then slipping the knotted towel down to her waist. "Help me cinch this?" she brandishes her bra at him.

Spike groans huskily as he crosses to her, lifts the straps onto each of her shoulders, and anchors the two little hooks into their corresponding clasps. His fingertips linger on her waist, and he brushes his lips across her wet hair before pulling her close and gulping a lungful of her scent – that pervading essence of _Buffy_ that goes beyond shampoo or shower gel or the sweetest perfume.

"Got half a mind to pin you right back on my bed, my temptress," he moans in her ear, holding her against his chest for a lingering moment. "But I'll be good, _this time_ a'least. Can't go tuggin' me about, though. I've got my pride, y'know, the little of it that hasn't been hollowed out from bein' a white hat."

"Being a white hat has its consolation prizes," Buffy points out. She reclines her head back on his shoulder, grinning impishly. "Like me."

"If you're the consolation prize, luv, then I won the best bloody jackpot the world has to offer. An' what are you smirkin' 'bout now?"

"Well… your hair _is_ all fluffy," she giggles, and he pulls away with an annoyed grumble. "And I just realized another problem."

"Which is?"

She waits to answer until after he dunks his own face under the shower's spray for a moment, saturates his platinum curls, roughly rakes a towel over his head, and grabs his half-empty tin of gel.

"Well, pretty much everything else I wore last night is going to need a long wash on the 'global warming' setting," Buffy shrugs, indicating all the clothes she'd yanked off on the way to the shower, which are scattered on the floor, still crusted with the frozen goop. "So, unless you have some Buffy-sized jeans, we… what?"

"I… I might, actually."

Guiltily biting his lip, Spike finishes slicking back his hair, returns to the bed, and folds the duvet up on one side. From underneath the frame he tugs out a large cardboard box, and Buffy kneels on the other side of it, tucking the edge of the towel around her kneecaps.

"Before you ask, I didn't… do anythin' unseemly with the mannequin," he mutters, a barely perceptible blush on his pale cheeks as he pulls plastic limbs out of the box and shoves them into a corner, along with a long blonde wig. "I… I stole some lil' things, discarded stuff, here an' there, back when you were still… disgusted by me."

"When did you stop?"

"Right 'round the time Mum came home from hospital. Only… only nicked one or two things after that, when I was 'specially low, like that night we tried to make a go of it at the Bronze an'… it all went rather badly."

"There's… a lot of stuff in here."

"Yeah. Pictures, sketches, some clothes… just wanted to look at you, smell you… even though I could never have you. I'm sorry."

Struck by the shame and despair in his tone, Buffy reaches across the box of pilfered items and lifts his chin with one fingertip.

"You _do_ have me, Spike. I never asked you to be perfect."

"Doin' my best. For a demon," he shrugs helplessly, sliding the box closer to her. "Are you angry, luv?"

"No… well, maybe a teensy bit. Now, if you'd taken Mr. Gordo, _then_ you would've been in _so_ much tr–… So _that's_ where my blue cashmere sweater went!" She seizes the cardigan out of the box. "Dawn's gonna kill you! I thought _she'd_ taken it!"

Spike hangs his head again. "S'pose I'll have to apologize to her too."

"You should, and so should I, 'cuz I yelled at her over it. Look at me, Spike… I'm not mad," she whispers when he lifts his eyes. "I can't really even say I'm surprised. And hey, it's better than this stuff getting lost in some vortex in the washing machine like I thought had happened. Now stop looking like I'm gonna send you to the gallows and give me a kiss!"

He almost crushes the cardboard box in his haste to obey her.

* * *

After exchanging much more than a few kisses, Spike helps Buffy put together an outfit from among the stolen items – which include no fewer than six pairs of lacy underwear, her two most threadbare sleep-shirts, some khaki slacks, a pair of cozy sweats with a hole in one knee, and three different pastel sweaters… and at the very bottom the handkerchief she'd used to keep her perfume bottle on before it had 'mysteriously' vanished.

Once she dresses, they gather up the rest of his loot as well as all their ooze-smeared garments in Spike's old duffel so they can be washed at home, then traipse out of the crypt. It's cloudy enough that Spike can walk outside unfettered by a blanket or tarp; he just hikes his duster collar up around his ears and strolls hand-in-hand with Buffy across the turf. They pass the part of the cemetery where they fought the pirate slime monster, but thankfully there's no residual puddle of goo marking the spot.

"It's always nicest when the demons clean up after themselves. Lugging gigantic bodies around is a major pain," says Buffy. "Do you think the Hellmouth absorbs them or something?"

"Like what, evil fertilizer?" Spike smirks. "Dunno, luv, but it's more than likely."

"I wonder what research Giles has dug up. He could barely find anything on Glory or her dimension until you and Xander stole that box from Doc, but I guess maybe he's been more productive than we have this last week. We've been the star panel at the Lazybones Convention."

"Don't go guilt-trippin' yourself, sweets. You had healin' to do, ribs an' all. We all did. Guess Watcher heals best with a piping hot cuppa and a book in front of him."

"Probably right."

They slip in through the back door just before the noonday sun peeks its way through the clouds, and Buffy immediately flits around the kitchen to close all the blinds.

"Hi-ya lovebirds," Dawn grins at them, but then her eyes narrow, scrutinizing Buffy's slightly mismatched ensemble of sweater and tan slacks on such a warm, late spring day. "Hey… isn't that–"

"It _is_, but we're talking about it later," Buffy hisses, catching sight of the back of Giles's head in the living room. _Last thing he needs is more ammo in the anti-Spike department_. "I'm gonna change. Be back in a minute."

"Got it." Dawn flits around the island and sidles up to Spike. "You are in for some serious groveling later, mister. I got in major trouble over _the thing we're talking about later_."

"I know. Sorry, Niblet," he murmurs remorsefully. "Make it up to you when it comes exam-time, eh? Studyin' history?"

The teen rolls her eyes and lightly punches his arm. "Fine, I accept your apology. But-you-have-to-do-all-my-chores-for-a-month!-Okay?-Deal!-Bye!"

The last few phrases burst out of Dawn in a breathy rush, and then she pelts upstairs, giggling in self-satisfaction.

"Doesn't count 'nless you got it in writin'!" Spike calls up after her. Tara smiles at him from the stove, where the smell of pancakes wafts up to permeate the house. "Mornin', Glinda. Er… afternoon."

"Busy night? F-fighting demons, of course," she asks, taking butter and syrup from the fridge.

"Yeah, one creep in particular we're meanin' to speak to Watcher about. We slayed it, an' it slayed our laundry." He holds up the duffel. "I'll just nip down and do the wash, eh?"

"Sure. Willow just took our stuff out of the dryer, s-so it should all be free."

"Ta, Glinda."

He slips past her and down to the basement with the bag of dirty clothes, and Buffy – now attired in more suitable clothing for the mild weather – traipses downstairs with Willow and a still-smirking Dawn.

"It talked like a pirate and spewed slime everywhere when I ran it through with my stake," she recounts as they reach the main floor. "Hey Giles! Have you heard of any dimension with pirate slime demons?"

He nearly upends his cup of tea in surprise. "No, I've never come across such a thing. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, completely fine. Spike was with me. All the ghouls had no chance."

"Well… we'll have to ask Anya when she and Xander arrive if she has any familiarity with such creatures. Incidentally, Buffy, have you encountered any of, um, Glory's minions since the battle?"

"Nope."

"Curious. Perhaps they were consumed in one of the earthquakes."

"Or they could've just skipped town, you know, now that Glory's missed her one-time-only shot at going home," Willow suggests.

"Spike still has Ben's ID tag," Buffy remembers. "I guess we could go over to the hospital and ask if anyone's seen him, and if he's there, we can ask if _he_ knows what's happened to the sackcloth brigade."

"Yes, um, indeed. That may also be a possibility."

Giles sips his tea thoughtfully, and they let the subject drop. The arrival of Anya and Xander, plus the completion of Tara's chocolate chip pancakes, distracts everyone for a while, and Buffy shares with them all the adventure she and Spike had experienced last night – only without any parts having to do with the shower or his enormous cuddly bed. Once all the dishes are scrubbed, the gang gathers in the living room to hear Giles's update.

"Firstly on our docket, we have th–"

"_Firstly_?" Dawn splutters. "How many '-ly's are on the docket?"

"Not many," Giles replies, only slightly piqued. "As I was saying, there have been reports concerning mysterious sounds emerging from the old observatory south of the college. The building was decommissioned over a decade ago when the college had to scrub the astronomy department due to budgetary constraints."

"Which was a big shame, 'cuz we used to go there on school field trips," pipes up Willow. "There was a whole planetarium exhibit, and one time I saw Jupiter's moons in the telescope."

"Yes, thank you, Willow. At any rate, the building has been left vacant since the college abandoned it, as its location at the edge of town made it inconvenient to refit for other use. Our concern is the startling number of police reports that have been filed this week in reference to, um…" He checks his spiral notepad for the exact quote, "'_screeching and wailing'_, and lights visible from the neighboring woods. If this was an isolated incident I would be more inclined to suspect that some vagrants had hidden in the place, rather than an supernatural involvement. But, seeing as there are now eight compatible reports, and given the date on which these statements began…"

"The night we fought Glory," Buffy surmises, without needing to glance at Giles's note sheets.

"Precisely," continues her Watcher. "It may be connected with the brief opening of the portal. We have no way to ascertain what other dimensions had temporary access to ours, or what may have entered. Thus, I think it only prudent that we inspect the building in question and determine both the cause of the reports and whether this is a matter we must resolve straightaway."

"Does '_precisely_' count as another '-ly' on your list?" asks Dawn, picking at a fraying string on the corner of the living room rug and clearly bored stiff.

"Now really, Dawn," Giles sighs at her, then thumbs to his next page of notes. "There is also the matter of… the dragon."

All the young adults immediately sit up straighter, their eyes brightening with interest.

"Which, perhaps should have come first," he realizes, noting their sudden burst of attentive enthusiasm. "At any rate, it's been difficult to keep track of the creature, since spotters are unlikely to assume it is indeed a dragon, and therefore the eyewitness accounts are greatly varied. I caught one statement on this morning's weather report in which a man insisted he had seen a _bat_ the size of a train car lift off from the old oak in his yard when he went to fetch the morning paper."

"Pfft! It wasn't _that_ big," snorts Buffy.

"I should certainly hope not."

"Maybe the guy meant the full wingspan was that big, or a _small_ train car," says Xander.

"The specifics are beside the point," Giles waves them to silence. "Regardless of its size, we are dealing with a monster of unknown origin, the strengths and qualities of which we have never before encountered."

"But… you have books on dragons, right?" inquires Anya. "I've seen a few in some of D'Hoffryn's dimensions, but none of them looked like the one that came out of the portal. Dragons and vengeance demons don't get along too well."

"Oh, not to worry, I have exhaustive resources on dragon varieties from untold dimensions. Simply hundreds of books pertaining to the – no. I have nothing. Nothing at all. Not a scrap of research that could help up capture or contain a fire-breathing beast."

"You gotta stop doing that, man," mutters Xander, who had squirmed uncomfortably at the idea of hours spent in droll research. Giles gives a small smirk and then hides behind his refreshed cup of tea.

"Did any of us _see_ it b-breathe fire?" Tara asks softly. "I m-mean, we're calling it a dragon because that's the closest thing it looks like, but it might not be as dangerous as we think."

"Yeah, Tara's right," nods Buffy. "It looks like what we all think dragons _should_ look like, but it might not go all Smaug the Magnificent on us. It could even be friendly, or… what's that word for non-humans things that can think and reason?"

"_Rational_?" Willow offers. "Or _sentient_, maybe."

"Yes! Both. Maybe it can communicate."

"Dunno, pet," shrugs Spike. "I'm all for hopin' it'll play nice, but if it's anythin' like that Queller demon space-freak, the only communication I'll be after is askin' it to please kindly suss out its softest bits so I can stab it."

"Be all that as it may," Giles says in a raised voice, trying to restore order amidst all the brainstorming, "it's highly unlikely that local animal control or in fact the Sunnydale police force have the capacity to deal with this creature, even if it is sentient. Therefore, the responsibility falls to us… er, to Buffy, more specifically."

"Duty calls, Buffster," grins Xander. "So G-man, when should we check out the old observatory?"

"Tonight, I recommend. The last reported sighting of the dragon-like beast is, quite conveniently, in the woods adjacent to the observatory. We may be able to resolve both situations, or at a minimum obtain what information we require as to how to next proceed."

"It just figures that they'd be buddies," Buffy huffs. "What's next? A portal demon pep rally?"

"Buffy, really, this is no joking matter. We are not aware of the creatures' capabilities, neither this dragon nor whatever is causing a disturbance in the observatory."

"Can I come see the dragon?" asks Dawn.

"No!" everyone else answers without pause. Dawn folds her arms grumpily.

"Fine. Who's stuck babysitting me?" she pouts.

"We will!" Anya volunteers. "You can come over to Xander's! We found a new board game to try, called Clue. Though I don't think I'll like it as much as Life, since there doesn't seem to be any money involved."

From across the room Xander shrugs happily, love for his girlfriend – now his fiancée – shining in his eyes. Buffy sneaks a glance at Spike, and in his cobalt gaze is the same intense and tender devotion, leveled unwaveringly at her.

_To be continued_…


End file.
